


Phonation

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Captain John Watson, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV John Watson, Scent Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top John Watson, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Phonation (n). The production or utterance of speech sounds.John knows what he wants, and Sherlock's going to pay very close attention to exactly how he says it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The gorgeous Mimamia asked me to make John a BAMF/top with an irresistible voice. I got on it right away, and here it is! It was fun, actually, to view the two of them in slightly different roles, especially seeing John as having That Voice instead of Sherlock.
> 
> Their safeword is inspired by a post from Casmonster1 on facebook - perfect fit!
> 
> This is for you, I hope it lives up to your expectations, Mimi! x

John didn’t know whether he was feeling more smug, or annoyed. He’d taken a stupid bet from Sherlock, knowing he was right. Knowing and proving were different, though, and it had taken a whole day slogging through the wet streets of London to find that proof. He knew that by now, the constant movement in his soaked coat would mean he was in pretty desperate need of a shower, too.

He arrived home, discarding his coat in the hall to drip on the carpet. His own scent rose as he discarded the garment, a heady mix of sweat, musky wet fabric and the faintest trace of his cologne. His shoes squelched as he mounted the stairs, glowering. For months now, he and Sherlock had been skirting around the attraction they both felt, even going so far as a drunken snog one night. John was sick of playing, and he was sick of Sherlock sending him all over London for his own amusement. Sherlock was going to pay for this, and John knew exactly how.

He opened the door at the top of the stairs, letting himself in and looking levelly at Sherlock. A grin danced over Sherlock’s face as he noted how wet John was. It faltered a little when he saw the look on John’s face – a no-nonsense, flat stare. Without breaking their gaze, John shut the door behind him and locked it, the snib sounding loud in the silent room. John saw Sherlock’s Adam apple bob up and down as he swallowed. Good. He was a little unsure, but John knew that Sherlock was not as immune to social cues as he pretended to be. They both knew what was potentially going to happen here.

“I got very wet today.” John said, his voice low and unimpressed.

Sherlock nodded.

“I don’t like being wet, Sherlock.” John’s voice was intense as his gaze, boring into Sherlock and pinning him in place on his chair. John folded his arms, his posture masculine and stock-still. Sherlock stood, hesitating, before collecting a towel from the bathroom, along with the clothes hamper, dropping them at John’s feet. John nodded once, and as Sherlock turned to return to his chair, John shot out one hand, grabbing Sherlock’s arm.

“I believe we have a bet to settle, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked surprised, then spoke for the first time since John had arrived home. “You found proof?”

John raised his free hand, revealing the plastic bag he’d kept dry-ish in his inner pocket. Sherlock inspected it, and nodded, tossing the bag onto his desk. His arm was still trapped by John, but he made no move to pull himself free. Interesting, thought John.

“I believe the wager,” John drawled, keeping his voice quiet and calm, “involved you doing housework of my choice for a week.”

Sherlock nodded. This nonverbal version of Sherlock was quite good, John thought absently. He considered his next words carefully.

“I’ve decided on your chores, Sherlock.” John drew out Sherlock’s name, slightly popping the ‘k’, his voice roughening as his mind processed his decision. The quiet of the room allowed John to keep his voice low, Sherlock hanging on his every word. Moving closer, John’s hand released Sherlock’s arm, sliding up to rest on his chest. John leaned in and up, his lips brushing the edge of Sherlock’s ear. He could feel Sherlock’s heart racing under his hand, and his glance as he shifted his weight confirmed the dilated pupils he’d suspected would grace Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock was definitely on board with this. Excellent.

“Safeword?” John murmured, wanting to be sure Sherlock consented to whatever it was that was going to happen.

“Vatican Cameos.” Sherlock said instantly. It was obvious that he had played like this before, John thought as a low rumble of satisfaction made its way through him.

“I want,” John breathed, allowing his hot breath to flow across Sherlock’s skin, “I want you,” he repeated, the fingers on Sherlock’s chest gripping a little, pressing into the muscle. Sherlock’s breath caught, his heartrate accelerating. John slid his hand firmly down, palm slipping along the silk shirt until John could feel Sherlock’s nipple under his fingers. He pinched gently through the fabric, rolling the sensitive skin between his fingers as he breathed into Sherlock’s ear. The gasp, with the ghost of a high pitched, erotic sounding, ‘oh!’ made John’s cock jump with interest.

“I want you to undress me, since these wet clothes are your doing.” John growled into Sherlock’s ear, his teeth sinking not so gently into the softness of his earlobe. Sherlock yelped, his eyes flying open. John allowed his hand to fall as Sherlock took a step back. John stood still, eyes locked on Sherlock. The latter didn’t move, until John raised one eyebrow and said in a gruff voice, “Get on with it, then.” He was actually quite cold now, and as Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric grazed his erect nipples. John sucked in a breath, and Sherlock froze, the wet shirt hanging from one of his hands.

“Drop the shirt and squeeze my nipples.” John instructed gruffly. His voice had deepened with his growing desire, the gravelly tone sending a shudder through Sherlock as he let the shirt fall onto the towel beside him. Reaching out, Sherlock allowed his fingers to brush over John’s nipples.

“Harder.” John groaned once, then again, louder, and Sherlock complied, pinching John’s nipples, rolling them as John had done for him. John’s eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation, his cock filling out as the stabs of desire shot through his body.

“John…” Sherlock whispered, and John answered without opening his eyes.

“This is my party, Sherlock. I’m making the decisions. Anything you don’t understand about that?”

Sherlock shook his head, then spoke, “No, John.” His own voice was thick with desire, and there was no hesitance in his answer.

John grinned, openly enjoying the submissive response from the man in front of him. He sighed in contentment, then opened his eyes and pinned another look on Sherlock. “I’m going to take you apart now, Sherlock, as soon as you’ve stripped us both.”

Sherlock nodded, reaching for John’s trousers. As he fumbled a little at the buttons, John kept up a low, heated monologue; the uneven sound of Sherlock’s breathing providing fuel for his desires.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time, Sherlock. I want to taste you all over, every part. I want to lick your body from top to toe, to scrape my teeth along the ridges of your ribs and the side of your jaw. I want to take your cock deep into my mouth, and press my fingers into your arse, skimming over your prostate ‘til you come so hard down my throat you see fireworks. And then I’m going to push my dripping cock into you, exactly where my fingers have been. I’m going to drive into you, make you want to spread your legs wider and wider until you can barely see for your desire. You’re going to be begging me to make you come again, and I will while I’m still inside you. I want to feel your body squeezing around me as I pump my load into your arse, Sherlock Holmes, and then I’m going to do it all again tomorrow, the same but different.” John’s voice was rough and low. He fought to keep it as steady as possible, but watching Sherlock shiver and his breath hitch as John whispered his desires into the air made it almost impossible.

All too soon, Sherlock stood naked in front of John. John inhaled deeply at the sight of Sherlock, his own scent even stronger now that no clothes covered his skin. The musky fabric smell still clung to him, underpinned by the heavily masculine odour of his sweat, salty and dark. He could see Sherlock’s nose twitch as the scent reached him, his lungs expanding as he took in the scent, eyes widening at the inherent sensuality of such a combination. Meanwhile, John took his time running his eyes over the acres of pale skin that were now exposed to both the cool air and the heat of John’s gaze. Sherlock’s face showed how hard he was working to maintain his composure, but John knew his body was throbbing with the same desire that was driving through John. His gently pulsing cock was clear evidence of that.

“Come here.” John said, and he ran his fingers into Sherlock’s hair as he stepped in. With a hard, predatory look, John said, “You’re mine, Sherlock. Nobody else gets to do this with you except me.” The possessive statement made Sherlock inhale sharply, and John felt his long hard cock jump, smearing wet pre-come over John’s hip. John ignored this for the moment, securing one hand in Sherlock’s hair while the other trailed over the collarbone right in front of him.

“Your skin is like marble…” John whispered, kissing and nipping at the bone. Sherlock whimpered, his lip caught between his teeth as John praised his body, licking and kissing all over his torso as far as he could reach. By the time John was low enough to have to release the hand in Sherlock’s hair, he could see Sherlock’s knees trembling. Instead of continuing, John rose up as tall as he could, commanding hoarsely, “Bedroom, now.”

Sherlock scrambled to obey, John following with no pretense of reluctance. This was probably the hottest thing he’d ever been a part of and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

He entered the bedroom to find Sherlock standing by the bed. Sherlock said, “How do you want me?”

John grinned at him approvingly. “Spread out on you back. Pillow under your hips, you’re going to need it. Where’s the lube?”

Sherlock found the tube then arranged himself on the bed as John had determined. He closed his eyes, and John could see him working to control his breathing. A moan escaped him as John trailed his mouth over his hand, taking one finger in his mouth and sucking gently, then harder. His hips bucked up, and John put his hands there, pressing down to the bed. John released the finger, letting his teeth scrape along its length as it slid through his lips.

“Not yet.” John growled. He pushed against the sharp hips until they relented, then allowed his fingers to wander down the slim thighs, goosebumps rising in his wake. Sherlock moaned, muscles clenching under John’s touch. John climbed onto the bed, hovering over Sherlock for a moment, sucking on one nipple hard, before his lips moved down to the first of Sherlock’s visible ribs. John’s teeth scraped over it, before he moved on to the next, and the next. Sherlock’s cries and shudders had a rhythm, driving John to move together with them, scripting a duet of ecstasy. When John reached the last rib, his mouth ghosted over the skin, allowing his own sounds to escape – deep breathy groans, vibrating through Sherlock’s abdomen, the brief touches of his lips on skin punctuating the uneven sounds. Masculinity and confidence radiated from John, and Sherlock absorbed it all, his own submission highlighted by John’s sense of control.

“Mmmm, what was next?” John asked, his voice rasping against the strain of his control. He teased across the concavity of Sherlock’s stomach, muscles quivering below his exploring lips, before he started a slow but definite descent towards Sherlock’s straining cock. John skirted it, burying his nose instead in the dark curls, letting out a delicious chuckle at the frustrated whine Sherlock had released. He smelled of vanilla and the light musk of an intimately naked body.

“Patience, Sherlock.” John murmured, then dropped his tongue to lick at the end of Sherlock’s cock, the liquid collecting there slicking across his tongue. John spent long minutes running his tongue in wide swathes along Sherlock’s cock, his fingers sinking into his own mouth before caressing Sherlock’s balls, rolling them between his fingers. The symphony of Sherlock’s whimpers and gasps spurred John on, the same rhythm as earlier still driving John’s actions, his hands slipping over Sherlock’s skin, the soft moans and deep rasps from his own throat adding to the composition. Soon, Sherlock’s groin was entirely slick, all the way from hard cock to the soft skin behind his balls. John reached for the lube, covering his fingers before rising to look Sherlock in the eye as he slowly pressed one finger into his arse.

“God, you’re so tight.” John muttered, most of his words lost in the wail Sherlock sent up at the breach. John rocked his hand back and forth, the moist sound of his action adding another layer to John’s ears. Sherlock’s body was hot and it clung to his finger, drawing him in despite the intrusion. John added another finger, the muscle fighting him as he slowly pressed his entry. Throughout, John had continued his attentions to Sherlock’s cock, keeping him near the edge without sending him over. John could feel Sherlock’s body squeezing around his fingers, and he knew it was close now.

“Let’s see what I can find, now…” John said, his jagged voice rolling over Sherlock’s skin, sandpaper on silk. He curled his fingers, mouth taking Sherlock in, hot and wet. He groaned around Sherlock’s cock, the vibrations of the hoarse sound stuttering through Sherlock. As Sherlock thrusted deep into John’s throat, the curling fingers found his prostate and brushed, triggering a wail from Sherlock, coupled with his orgasm. Hot come spurted down John’s throat, the sound of John’s swallows lost in the cries of ecstasy from Sherlock. As he relaxed out of his contortion, John released the softening cock, withdrawing his fingers and sitting up, watching Sherlock’s face as he came down.

 “Hmmm, that went well.” John rasped, his throat a little raw from the constant sounds and salty come. He sat for a few moments, stroking Sherlock’s thighs, his own erection still prominent as he waited. Deep brown eyes roved over the pale body, now flushed with arousal, spread out before him, completely ravished. Time was suspended as they floated in the dream-like state.

“As I recall there was another part to this story, John.” Sherlock’s voice was dreamy, but his meaning was clear. John raised his eyebrows, taking one hand to his own cock for a few rough jerks, relieving the sudden urgency at Sherlock’s words.

“Indeed. I figured you’d need a few more moments,” John said, but at the masculine roughness of his voice, Sherlock’s cock gave a definite twitch.

“Looks like you’re ready. I’m impressed.” John said, deliberately pitching his voice low, watching with a smirk as Sherlock’s cock filled out a little. He reached out his fingers, trailed them along the length, feeling the blood rush in to erect it once more. Grinning, John reached again for the lube, slicking his fingers and cock at once. He leaned over Sherlock, pinning his already prone body with a smoldering look.

“The look in your eyes when I put my fingers in you is incredible,” John said, as he pushed his fingers into Sherlock’s arse again, watching the eyes widen, pupils blow out, colors shifting as he breached Sherlock’s body, hot and tight and still slick with lube. John scissored his fingers, encouraging the muscle to relax around his presence. Sherlock’s features contorted, the discomfort and pleasure mingling in his face as his body became accustomed to John.

“I’m going to add another finger, relax around me.” John’s voice was less demanding than earlier, though the sound still elicited a groan from Sherlock. The aural sandpaper skidded over Sherlock’s skin again, making heat stutter across him, centering on John’s fingers inside him. John could feel him working to relax, the flicker of his muscles involuntary around John. Knowing how much control Sherlock was exerting almost pushed John over the edge. Gritting his teeth, John removed his fingers from Sherlock, rolling a condom on himself before he bent over Sherlock, noses almost brushing.

“I’m going to fuck you, Sherlock.” John’s voice was deep and ragged, though his hands were gentle. The shudder than rippled through Sherlock was the hardest yet, his curls shaking as his eyes squeezed shut. John looked down, the head of his cock pressing against the entrance to Sherlock’s arse. Raising his eyes, John watched again as Sherlock’s face registered every emotion, John’s cock slowly stretching him wide. The lube slicked his way, and it wasn’t long before the groans from John were coming faster, his breathing harsh, a counterpoint to Sherlock’s moaning. John could taste Sherlock’s name on his tongue as he panted and gasped. As predicted, Sherlock’s legs were stretched wide, John’s arms pressing his knees to the bed as he pounded into Sherlock. The tight heat was torture, sweet and raw. John’s breathing was loud, but he could still hear Sherlock’s breathless pleas panting into the humid air between them. John angled a little, searching, until Sherlock bowed, his spine arched back, eyes closed at the sensation of John inside him. Thrusting harder, John made sure to hit Sherlock’s prostate on each pass. He could feel Sherlock tighten around him, the incredible closeness gripping him like a steel gauntlet as Sherlock came hard, one hard spurt all he could manage so soon after his previous effort. After so much stimulation it was this final pressure that drove John over the edge, his cries broken and wild, the pulsing spurts inside Sherlock underlining his frenzy. Gasping, John collapsed, still mindful to catch his weight on his elbows.

“Hmmm, that went well.” John rasped, his throat raw from the constant groaning. His voice sounded like broken glass, the roughness exacerbated by his uneven breathing. He and Sherlock winced as he slipped out. The condom was discarded onto the floor, John rolling to lie next to Sherlock, their breathing the only coda to the symphony they had wrung from each other’s bodies.

“So, tomorrow, then?” Sherlock asked, voice wavering slightly with exhaustion.

“For sure.” John rumbled, his face breaking into a grin.


End file.
